


tits the season

by Deisderium



Series: tits out, lads [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Blue Velvet Suit Pants, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Really Nothing More to This One Than Banging, Steve Really Missed Bucky While He Was Gone Okay, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22056355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: Pepper dressed him for her party, in a black suit jacket and ridiculous blue velvet pants. He thought the pants looked stupid before he tried them on, but it turns out that he cuts a pretty dashing figure in them, and furthermore, they feel fantastic. In fact, he could hardly keep his hands off himself. All night, he was petting down his thighs, finding an excuse to put his hands in his pockets. He had to keep aware of it, in fact, because what he really wanted was to stroke himself through the fabric.It was just that his pants felt so soft, he couldn't stop touching himself, and as a result, even though it was all G-rated touching, he was half-hard most of the night, and desperately wishing that Bucky was with him.He's gotten used to being with Bucky, to the luxury of being touched whenever he wants. There's really no reason for him not to touch himself wants to.And he wants to.*In which Bucky comes home to a delightful sight.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: tits out, lads [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1332919
Comments: 75
Kudos: 466





	tits the season

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! This fic was inspired by those gifs of Chris Evans unable to stop touching his velvet pants, and who could blame him? 
> 
> Many thanks to snuzz for the title (TITle!) which she gave me last year and i have been saving UNTIL NOW <3

Steve shuts the door behind him with a relieved sigh. He went to the Stark Industries New Year's Eve party at Bucky's encouragement and Pepper's insistence, but honestly, he had wished that he, like Morgan, could bow out at ten o'clock and go to bed. Instead, he had stayed up toasting with Pepper and Tony as the ball dropped, and then made his excuses.

It's not that he even has a really good reason to get home early—Bucky is helping Natasha out with some mysterious mission that neither one of them has yet explained in any detail to him; but Natasha had promised him, privately, that Bucky would not have to fight anyone. He wishes he were home, though. He doesn't enjoy ringing in the new year alone.

Pepper dressed him for her party, in a black suit jacket and ridiculous blue velvet pants. He thought the pants looked stupid before he tried them on, but it turns out that he cuts a pretty dashing figure in them, and furthermore, they feel fantastic. In fact, he could hardly keep his hands off himself. All night, he was petting down his thighs, finding an excuse to put his hands in his pockets. He had to keep aware of it, in fact, because what he really wanted was to stroke himself through the fabric.

It was just that his pants felt so soft, he couldn't stop touching himself, and as a result, even though it was all G-rated touching, he was half-hard most of the night, and desperately wishing that Bucky was with him.

But now, he's alone. The champagne toasts have been drunk, he's taken his jacket and tie off, and thrown himself back on the couch.

He didn't bother to turn the lights on when he walked in—the illumination from the kitchen was more than enough to keep him from stubbing his toes—and the city lights look pretty through the windows, flakes of snow occasionally glinting as they drop down past the glass.

He throws his head back against the back of the couch. He's tired and he misses Bucky, but honestly, he's still horny too. For years, he'd been able to hold himself still with a stiff upper lip and tell himself it didn't matter how often he was or wasn't touched, that the fight was the only important thing, but it's not true anymore, if it ever was. He's gotten used to being with Bucky, to the luxury of being touched whenever he wants. There's really no reason for him not to touch himself if he wants to.

And he wants to.

He starts at his knees and strokes up slowly, letting himself take in the way the pads of his fingertips run with the grain of the fabric, and stutter a little bit when he rubs it the wrong way. He scribes little circles in the velvet with his fingers, taking in the way it's so soft against his fingers and the way touch tingles against his thighs.

He's been at least a little aroused all evening, and his dick is hard before he even touches it, while he's still gently rubbing his hands up and down his long thighs. He lets out a drawn-out sigh and settles back into the couch, leaning back a little further.

His shirt doesn't have as interesting a texture at his pants, but he slips his hand up over his belly and the shirt is silky enough that it provides a contrast with the velvet; both soft, just different kinds of soft. He slides his hands up his own rib cage slowly, feeling how warm the fabric is against his skin, letting his fingers linger over the bump of each rib and the dip between them. He slides his hands farther up, slowing down over the swell of his pectoral muscles, slowing even further over his nipples. He makes a sound in his throat without meaning to, a low moan, and has to tell himself not to be embarrassed, because he's alone.

He lets himself linger over his nipples with both hands, rubbing in slow, small circles, stopping to gently pinch and tug every now and again. They get hard quickly—everything happens quickly, with his body, and how different it is from the days before the war. With his poor circulation and heart troubles, sometimes he'd had no choice but to have a leisurely jerk, but it wouldn't have been like this. Then, he'd been teasing himself just to get fully hard, whereas now it seemed he gets erect at the drop of a hat—or the caress of a slightly different texture, apparently.

He's past feeling embarrassed about it, though. Bucky likes it—Bucky likes that Steve's so easy for him, and the fact that Bucky likes it only turns Steve on even more.

He lets himself imagine for a moment that the hands on his chest are Bucky's, but he can't sustain the illusion. They don't feel right—one too soft and warm. It still feels good though, and he takes his hands back down the track they just followed up, sliding over the smooth shirt until he reaches the soft, velvet waistband. He doesn't trying to get beneath it yet, though, but runs his hand lightly up and down over the hot, hard length of his erection.

He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and tries to keep his hips from rolling up into the gentle friction of his fingers. It's not nearly enough pressure, but he's just teasing himself so far, and it feels good. He squeezes himself through the fabric, feels the plush nap of the velvet against his fingers, the warmth of his hand against his dick. Sometimes Bucky likes to tease him, to take him to the brink of orgasm and back again, touching him slowly enough to keep him almost there but not letting him actually come until Bucky deems himself satisfied with Steve's torment. Other times, Bucky likes to make him come quickly and then keep him going, almost to the point of overstimulation, and make him come again and again. The super soldier refractory period is very short, and this game can go on for hours.

It's in the spirit of that second, more impatient Bucky that Steve pops open the button of his fly. He's not going to see how many orgasms he can wring out of himself—although Bucky would be delighted to do so, Bucky's not here, and Steve just wants to satisfy the ache in his body. Still, he bets he can get at least two before he goes to bed.

He zips the zipper down one tine at a time, taking his time, feeling the subtle shift in pressure against his dick, maddeningly faint, but perceptible enough that more heat coils in his belly. By the time his fly is completely unzipped, he's dying to touch himself. He makes himself wait, swiping his thumb in a slow motion over the velvet directly over his cock one more time, from the tip all the way down to the root, his heart beating faster at the touch. 

Finally, he pushes his pants down over his hips, groaning in relief has his cock springs free. He wraps his fingers around it immediately, pumping his hand roughly just once before he stops himself. His breath is coming more raggedly now, harsh little pants that echo in his ears. He tilts his head back against the couch, eyes closed, the fabric rough against the back of his neck, and slides his hand up to the tip of his cock. It's wet with precome, and he rubs the slit, traces over the ridge of the glans, keeping his touch light.

He drags his fingers back down, all the way to the base. It feels good, slippery with precome, and he slides his other hand to cradle his balls. They're heavy and tight already, drawn up close to his body, and it feels good to roll them in his palm while he jerks himself, so he does. If Bucky were here, maybe he'd play with his tits—his nipples are aching, hard points of want—but while the serum gave him many gifts, it didn't give him extra arms, so he'll just have to save that for when Bucky gets home.

He keeps stroking himself with firm, long strokes, eyes still closed, in a warm, private bubble all his own, and he'd like to slow it down, but he doesn't really have that much restraint in him right now, and instead he picks up the pace. He groans and in his lust-feverish state it almost feels like there's an echo, but he doesn't have the attention to spare. 

He moves faster, sliding his thumb around the head, and suddenly he can feel his orgasm rushing toward him. He lets himself embrace the sensation, doesn't try to slow down at all, and moments later, it floods through him, white-hot pleasure racing through his body as the long muscles of his thighs and his abdomen tense. His cock pulses in his hand and he spills over his own finger, his belly, probably ruining his shirt, but he doesn't care.

He lets himself relax, lolling back against the couch cushions, hand still wrapped loosely around his dick. He feels boneless, like he could just slide onto the floor into a puddle.

"Don't stop," says a hoarse voice, and his eyes fly open and he makes a sound that's absolutely not a high-pitched yelp. Bucky is standing in the doorway watching him, his hand pressed against the bulge in his tactical pants.

"How long have you been standing there?" Steve says, a little embarrassed, but also a lot turned on by the sight of Bucky with his hand on his dick.

"Long enough," Bucky says. "I gotta say, I was just thinking of coming home to get a shower, some food, maybe watch a movie cuddled up to you on the couch, but this seems like a better idea." He reaches down and squeezes his cock through the fabric again.

"I could take care of that for you," Steve says.

"That's a good thought," Bucky says. "But didn't I tell you to keep going?"

Steve wraps his hand around his oversensitive dick, already starting to get hard again. "It's too much, Buck," Steve says. He knows it won't be for long, knows that with Bucky here, his refractory period will be even shorter.

"You can handle it." Bucky starts working on his straps and buckles, undoing his belt and the harness over his tactical gear. "You look nice, sweetheart. Those velvet pants are something else. So what was it, you couldn't keep your hands off yourself?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Steve blushes at being so easily seen through, but well, it's the truth. "It felt good, and I was missing you."

Bucky grounds and shoves his pants down past his waist. "I'm here now," he says hoarsely. His cock is hard and flushed red. Steve desperately wants to touch him, wants to get his mouth on him.

"What can I do for you?" Steve asks. His hand is still moving on his cock, slippery and messy. He's gone from the sharp painful thrill of pushing himself too far, too soon, to hot with arousal again.

"You're doing it," Bucky assures him, but that's not what Steve wants to hear.

"Please let me touch you." Steve strokes his cock a little faster, demonstrating how he would touch Bucky if Bucky gave him the chance. Bucky groans and jacks himself slowly, shiny with precome.

"Not yet," Bucky says. "First, I'm going to touch you."

He walks over to the couch and nudges Steve's legs farther apart with his knees. His tactical jacket is hanging loose to either side of his torso, and he peels himself out of it. He's got on a compression shirt underneath, one of the ones tailored to lack the left arm. It fits him like a glove, so tight that Steve can see every dip of the musculature of his abdomen, the hard pricks of his nipples against the fabric. Bucky pulls that over his head too, and Steve can see a faint bruise along his ribs.

Steve frowns, his hand slowing. "I thought this wasn't a mission where you were going to have to fight."

Bucky nudges his knee again, maybe a little harder this time. "Nat been tattling on me?" He snorts. "Don't worry, no one hit me. This was just a fuck up during extraction,"

Steve relaxes and starts moving his hand. He's completely hard again, aching and electric with desire and sensitive with his previous orgasm.

Bucky kicks off his boots and steps out of his pants. He's so fucking beautiful—Steve will never tire of looking at him like this. Bucky presses into the space in between Steve's spread legs, and he's so tall from this angle, looming over Steve. It makes his tits looks absolutely fucking delectable, and Steve lets go of himself to wipe his hand off on his shirt and run his hands up Bucky's sides, mindful of the bruise, and get a good handful of his chest, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over his nipples. 

Bucky's eyes darken and his lips part. Steve can hear his breath speed, and Steve's own pulse quickens. "I didn't say you could stop," Bucky says, his voice dark and low.

"You didn't say I couldn't, either." Steve surges up to claim a kiss, and Bucky meets him halfway, his right hand cupping Steve's jaw. But then he pushes him back to the couch and straddles his legs. Steve arches up into his touch, and Bucky lets his hand trail over the curve of Steve's chest.

"You made a mess of your shirt," Bucky observes. "It's a nice one, too."

"It'll wash." Steve breathes out raggedly as Bucky starts undoing the buttons, agonizingly slowly.

"Pepper gave you that one. You'll have to dry clean it. You really want to do that to the nice people at the laundry service?" He sounds far too put together for Steve's taste, but pinned beneath Bucky's thighs, Steve can't do all that much about it at the moment. He reaches for Bucky's dick, but Bucky grabs his hands and puts them at Steve's side with a pointed look.

Steve makes himself sit still, although a pained moan escapes him, and Bucky rewards him by sliding his hands up Steve's thighs.

"This velvet does feel good," Bucky says, and rakes his fingers down Steve's thighs again. Steve makes a sound of unabashed want, breath leaving him in a sigh.

"I couldn't stop petting my legs all night," Steve admits. "I had to concentrate really hard not to touch my dick."

"I bet," Bucky says. His voice is rough and low. "And then first thing when you got home, you just had to touch yourself."

"I did, yeah," Steve says. He can hear how breathy and needy he sounds. "I tried to pretend it was you, but I couldn't make myself believe it."

Bucky's eyes are locked on Steve's face, and they widen a little at that, his pupils dark and huge, the irises only thin lines of blue. Steve can't look away from his face, but in his peripheral vision, he sees the movement of Bucky's hand on his own cock, and that sends a pulse of need through him.

"Let me, please Buck, I want to." Steve's hands are still at his side where Bucky told him to put them, but he wants to move them, so badly. He's hard again, and aching with desire, wanting so desperately touch Bucky, to make him feel good, to get the beautiful sounds of his pleasure from him.

"What is it, Steve? What is it exactly that you want?" Bucky has finished unbuttoning Steve's shirt, and he pushes the dark fabric to either side so that it frames Steve's pecs and abdomen. Bucky trails a lazy hand from Steve's sternum to his bellybutton. Steve can't decide where he wants him to touch first. He wants Bucky's hands on him everywhere at once.

"I want to touch you," Steve breathes. "Anything you want."

Bucky slides his shirt off his shoulders, and Steve leans forward helpfully, holding out his arms so Bucky can peel him out of his sleeves. Bucky tosses his shirt off to the side—Steve could not possibly care less about where it lands. Bucky pinches his nipples and an electric thrill zings through Steve's body. It's exactly the sensation he couldn't recreate by himself: one hand warm and soft, the other cool and metal-hard.

"Please," Steve says. "Please."

"You're so pretty like this," Bucky says. The blush starts in Steve's face, but it crawls down his neck and chest. Bucky watches it, strokes over the heated skin. He leans down and licks over Steve's nipple, and Steve arches into the touch.

Steve can't stand it anymore; he reaches up and strokes his hands down Bucky's sides, the soft skin over the hard muscle always such a wonderful contrast. Bucky raises an eyebrow, and Steve suspects he'll hear about it later if he doesn't hear about it sooner, but Bucky lets him touch. Bucky leans into it, arching his back as Steve touches him. Steve leans up and kisses him, desperately hungry for the feel of his mouth against his own.

Bucky kisses him with the fervor of a man who came home tired to an unexpectedly horny sight, and is now ready to be unexpectedly horny himself.

"What if," he says between kisses, "you kept your pants mostly on and fucked me?"

Steve makes a little gut-punched sound at the thought of that. "Yes," he says with his mouth and every fiber of his being. "God, yes."

Bucky kisses him one more time, then stands up to get the lube. Steve misses the weight of him as soon as he's gone, but at least he's not gone long.

"Here's what I was thinking." Bucky sets the bottle of lube down on the coffee table. "How about if you suck my dick and open me up since you got started without me?"

"That absolutely works for me," Steve tells him. He's wanted nothing more than to touch Bucky's cock ever since he took his pants off, and frankly he's exercised superhuman levels of patience since then, and patience is one quality the serum did nothing to enhance.

He gets Bucky arranged on the couch how he wants him, and settles in between his legs. He's eager to get his mouth on his dick, so he ignores the lube before the time being, instead stroking his fingers lightly from the head of Bucky's dick to his balls and licking back up the line he just traced. Bucky groans and let his legs fall a little further apart. He tastes salty and a little sweaty, and Steve loves it.

Steve swallows him down to the root and gets a rhythm going. He is an enthusiastic sucker of cock, most specifically _this_ cock, and he lets himself just enjoy it for a minute or two before he reaches over to get the lube. Bucky watches him through half-lidded eyes, his face already lax with pleasure, his eyes intense. Steve slicks up his fingers and gently circles Bucky's hole, just rubbing at first.

Bucky gasps as Steve slowly pushes in, still bobbing up and down on Bucky's dick, penetrates him gently. He thrusts cautiously and Bucky's muscle relaxes around his finger until he feels confident that Bucky is ready for another. He gets two fingers in and sighs at the sound of Bucky's moan. Steve finds his prostate, and angles his fingers to hit it with each thrust.

"Wait, Steve," Bucky says hoarsely. "I want to come on your cock."

Steve pulls off Bucky's dick reluctantly, but he wants that too, so he complies. "You're ready?" His voice is rough and he sounds wrecked already. He withdraws his fingers gently, careful not to hurt Bucky. There's that shirt; he wipes his hand off on it.

"God, yes, I'm so ready." Bucky stands up and pulls Steve to his feet. He kisses him, then seats him on the couch. Bucky is standing over him, his cock red and wet with Steve's spit and precome. Steve's own erection hasn't flagged, and Bucky wraps his hand around him.

Steve sucks in a breath. It feels so good. Bucky gives him a quick stroke, then lets go and passes him the lube. Bucky pulls Steve's pants down to mid-thigh, presumably so that they won't make a mess of them—not that Steve cares. He pours probably too much lube into his hand and gets himself wet. Then Bucky's straddling him again, bracketing Steve's legs with his muscular thighs. Steve's breathing hard, his chest heaving with the force of his want.

Bucky lowers himself slowly onto Steve's cock and both of them gasp. Bucky slides down in one smooth motion, and Steve wraps his arms around him. Bucky is so hot and tight and slick around him, Steve feels like his nerve endings are being rewritten in white fire. He leans his head against Bucky's chest, holding him tightly.

Bucky only lets him stay there for a second while they both adjust, and then he's moving up and down, driving himself with his powerful legs, his arms around Steve's shoulders for balance.

"Buck, you feel incredible," Steve manages to say, which is far more coherent then he expected of himself, to be honest.

"Fuck, so do you," Bucky says. His cock is erect between them, flushed dark and so tempting. Steve can't resist reaching out and getting his hand around him. Bucky groans and throws his head back, and Steve moves his hand in time with their motions, rocking his hips up to meet Bucky. He isn't at a good angle to get much of a thrust, but it doesn't matter, because Bucky is taking what he wants, and Steve's just along for the ride.

The rhythm builds Steve's pleasure to a crescendo, and he tries to hold out. Sweat prickles along his hairline, and his skin feels so sensitive, attuned to Bucky's touch. Finally, as Bucky jolts down onto Steve's cock, his muscles go rigid, and his cock pulses under Steve's fingers. He comes, and the ripple of his muscle around Steve sends Steve off right after him, clinging to Bucky's sweat-slick skin as his orgasm floods him.

Both of them are panting against each other, Steve at least practically mindless with pleasure. They hold each other, cooling, until finally Steve turns and presses a kiss into Bucky's shoulder. "Welcome home, Bucky," Steve says.

Bucky laughs. It's a tired laugh, but a content one, Steve thinks. He's pretty good at cataloguing Bucky's laughs by now. "If that's the kind of welcome I get, maybe I should go away more."

Steve bites his shoulder in retaliation. "That's a terrible idea. Don't you know by now that I can't get enough even when you're here?"

"I'm not going anywhere else anytime soon, sweetheart," Bucky says, and turns to kiss Steve. After a moment, he pulls off Steve's softening cock, wincing a little, and Steve tries to get his pants off without ruining them in addition to his shirt.

They clean up a little, and then they shower and get food, and by the time they're tucked into bed, both of them curled toward each other, Steve's drifting, and Bucky must be exhausted. Still, as he falls asleep, he thinks he hears Bucky say, "I really did like those pants on you. "

✨

The next morning Steve wakes up to the smell of coffee and bacon and the pervasive sense that all is right with the world because Bucky's home again.

He gets up slowly, leisurely, and when he comes in the kitchen, Bucky smiles at him and says, "Happy New Year," and they start the new year right, with a kiss.

It's only once breakfast is finished and the dishes are put away that Steve says, "You know, they say that whatever you're doing on January first is what you'll be doing all year."

"Is that so," Bucky says, and he might think Steve's full of it, but he lets him pull him to the bedroom all the same. 

A week later, Steve isn't thinking of velvet. He'd sent his pants to the dry cleaner and that was that. He's sitting and reviewing a report Sam sent him—not that it's his call anymore, but if new Captain America wants old Captain America's two cents, he's happy to give it. The doorbell buzzes and he lets in a delivery woman with a frankly enormous box. 

She leaves moments later, and Steve opens the box to see—velvet. Pants and jackets in green and black and a deep burgandy.

"Bucky?" Steve calls.

A moment later, Bucky saunters in from the kitchen, where he's been doing something that smells delicious.

"Oh good," Bucky says. "They came."

"What is all this?" Steve asks, although he thinks he knows.

"You know how you said you couldn't keep your hands off yourself the first time you wore velvet?" Bucky smirks at him.

"I remember." Steve's mouth is suddenly dry. "Why don't you go try on the green one? We'll see how long either one of us lasts without touching you," Bucky says.

Steve picks up the box. The report is going to have to wait. (Sorry, Sam.)

As he goes to change, he finds he's hoping that neither one of them will last long at all.

And as it turns out, neither of them do.

✨


End file.
